


Ratty Old Pillow

by Mephistophilies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Hey guys long time no see, I said “i wanna write fluff” and accidentally Went To Far, Oh you know, Panic Attack, Requited Unrequited Love, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, anyways real tags, listen i either write porn or angst and usually its both, maybe a lil bit of me projecting onto Oikawa, no beta we die like men, not cutting tho, oh hey mephi what’s your first posted-on-main fic in months gonna be, oh uh Oikawa be like <3 Iwaizumi and he stoopid, oh yeah tags, so anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 12:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mephistophilies/pseuds/Mephistophilies
Summary: Tooru has always had troubles verbally expressing himself, but the only thing that he’s never had trouble talking to is the old, tear stained pillow he hides under his bed.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 13
Kudos: 152





	Ratty Old Pillow

**Author's Note:**

> So uh basically sorz for not posting for like 5 months. I been writing its just either been under anon or not posted at all. I have a fewwww more fits to post and they’re all haikyuu lmao.
> 
> Anyways.... Oikawa ur the love of my life I’m sorry for giving you my problems

Sometimes, Tooru worries.

Okay, well,  _ more _ than sometimes. In fact, all the time. Tooru knows it’s stupid, knows the clenching in his chest and tightness of his throat is just him overreacting, and yet he can’t  _ stop  _ it.

Tooru desperately wishes he weren’t this way. He wishes he could joke with his friends without every friendly-insult being a stab in the heart, without every  _ no-one would want you _ and  _ your personality is shit _ making him want to stab himself-

He  _ knows _ . He knows all that. No-one needs to tell him that for him to know it. He also knows that his friends are just joking, that they don’t mean all the jokes, yet if anything that just makes him feel worse.

It makes him feel worse because he can’t blame them for the thoughts he’s having, he can’t say  _ ‘what else am I supposed to think _ ?’ because he’s well aware they don’t mean it.

It makes him feel worse because, in the end, when he’s sobbing into a pillow at three in the morning, whispering the truth to himself, the same words that they say, he knows that they’re right, even if they don’t want to be.

So yes. He worries, and he knows it’s stupid, so he doesn’t say anything. When Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at him before calling him  _ shitty-kawa _ , when Hanamaki laughs at his occasional attempt to be serious, when Matsukawa pulls away from any touch Tooru administers, he worries, and he stays quiet, because it’s  _ stupid _ .

Iwaizumi is his best friend. Hanamaki is a good listener, when he wants to be. Matsukawa doesn’t much like being touched by anyone. It’s stupid to think otherwise, and yet, every single time, it’s like their hands reach into his throat and tear out his vocal cords, and he can’t say anything. He  _ won’t _ .

Not to them, at the very least. Sometimes, he blurts out stuff to his girlfriends - maybe his quickness to open up to them is why they’re always just as quick to break up with him - and every few weeks, when the words have built up in his throat and the squeezing around his heart hurts a little too much, he lets himself cry for a few hours and then is good as new.

And even though it hurts to even look at some people, he won’t let it show.  _ No matter what _ , he says to himself, after every session with his tear-stained pillow.  _ I won’t let them know of these stupid thoughts of mine _ .

Even though looking at Kageyama fills him with regret and fear and insecurity, flashbacks of a middle school gymnasium and one too many nights with the pillow, he won’t stop boasting about how Kageyama won’t ever reach his level.

Even though looking at Hanamaki and Matsukawa makes him feel like he needs to stop talking, to shut up and listen to them when they say he’s annoying, he’ll keep ranting about stupid things.

And even though looking at Iwaizumi takes the breath out of his lungs, fills Tooru with an overwhelming feeling of love,  _ unrequited  _ love, he’ll keep teasing about Iwaizumi still being single, keep talking about his girlfriend of the week.

Because that’s who he is, and he’s  _ prideful  _ and selfish and petty and narcissistic, and if it means keeping anyone from hearing the begging in his voice into that ratty, tear stained pillow, hearing the words that spew from his mouth like bile and taste like it too, then he’ll keep being who he is.

But even then, he worries.

Because, even though he’s been careful about his words, about his actions, making sure that there’s no poofy-ness left in his eyes after one of those nights, of which the amount is steadily increasing, he’s almost sure they’ve noticed.

Tooru is almost  _ sure  _ they’ve noticed, because Iwaizumi won’t let him stay an extra hour to practice, and Hanamaki has looked almost thoughtful as of late, and Matsukawa stares at him with curious eyes, and every single time he notices these things it gets worse.

If they find out, they’ll blame themselves. He _ knows  _ they will. Hanamaki will probably apologize and Iwaizumi will hug him like a koala and Matsukawa will frown. 

He’s already shivering with the disappointment he’s scared they feel. Tooru knows his friends don’t think like that, and yet knowing that they’re on the verge of discovery has Tooru sobbing every night, rasping gasps into the pillow, biting it to keep the wet sobs at bay.

And one day, Tooru feels it when he wakes up, a wave of apathy coming over him as he looks at his blaring phone alarm, at the pre-set out school uniform, at the backpack filled with unfinished work. 

The sun rests on his face, and for the first time in the eyes of its judging gaze he cries. It’s the first time he cried when the the sun is up, and it’s at the thought of seeing his friends, of going to volleyball and feeling the weight of their stares on his back.

His phone’s alarm stops on its own and is replaced with another - his ringtone for Iwaizumi. He wipes at his eyes, then takes a deep breath before answering.

“Iwa-Chan!” He says, and it sounds fake even to himself. He glares at the floor and begs his vocal cords to cooperate for  _ once _ . “What’s this about?”

“ _ Nothin’ _ ,” Iwaizumi replies non-chalantly from the other line, and Tooru smiles at the huskiness in his voice, lets himself relish in the fact that the second Iwaizumi woke his first thought was to call Tooru.

And then he wonders why, and the worry is back, and it takes the air out of his lungs.

“ _ I might be a little late to meet you today _ ,” Iwaizumi says, and Tooru feels on edge, hears himself blurt his next words before he can even think them.

“Iwa-Chan, it’s sweet of you to call, but I would have waited anyways.” 

_ Oh my god _ , Tooru thinks,  _ why the fuck did I say that? Oh my god oh my god _ -

Iwaizumi snorts a laugh from the other end, still tired and deep, and Tooru’s face warms, pursing his lips into a smile at the sound. Tooru loves hearing that god-awful laugh.

“ _ Well, whatever, _ ” Iwaizumi says, “ _ Better safe than sorry. I just didn’t wanna hear you complain about it, so I thought I’d warn you.” _

And  _ that  _ moment is gone. Tooru hates having these intimate calls with Iwaizumi for this exact reason - every time Tooru finally thinks maybe he has a chance, Iwaizumi shoots him down, makes sure he  _ knows _ Iwaizumi doesn’t want him like that.

Then, the worry grows, because what if Iwaizumi  _ does  _ know. What if every insult is him trying to get Tooru off his back, not wanting to hurt his feelings but not returning them, either?

He hears the tears in his own voice when he stutters out a goodbye, then throws the phone onto the bed, face down so he wouldn’t have to see the confused text Iwaizumi would inevitably send.

Another sob wracks his body, and then he grunts, digging his nails into the palm of his hand, focusing on that pain instead of the one dancing in his chest, keeps doing it until it really hurts, until it still throbs when he relaxes his hand, and then stands.

There is no escaping today, and there would be no escaping tomorrow, because Tooru is prideful, and he refuses to let  _ anyone  _ know the truth, ever again.

He gets dressed, picks his phone back up, answers the worried texts with emoticons telling Iwaizumi to stop being such a mother hen, and then brushes his teeth, and soaks his finger in freezing water under the faucet then presses it to the redness of his eyes until they return to normal.

Finally, he stands up straight and walks down the street to his and Iwaizumi’s waiting place, and then he waits, and when Iwaizumi finally shows up, neither of them say anything, because Tooru refuses to and Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to say.

Practice is a mess. Tooru couldn’t get up the energy to yell if he wanted to, and he can tell the team has noticed, Matsukawa’s frown deepening and Hanamki’s eyes turning to worry with every unreturned jab. 

He gets back into his uniform, and then leaves the club room first, and he’s in class long before anyone else. At lunch he hides outside, stares at the clouds and wishes he could find a shape within them, then back to class, doesn’t hear a single thing said, and then he’s in the club room after practicesilently tugging off his club clothes and thinking for once that he wishes their school colors weren’t so blinding.

“Oi.” Tooru raises his eyes to his friends, who he sees now is the only other people left in the club room, fully dressed unlike Tooru. It’s Iwaizumi who says the word.

“Ah-“ Tooru murmers, “Sorry, Iwa-Chan, I’ve been-“

“What’s wrong?” Iwaizumi interrupts. “You’ve been less of a shithead today. Is your brain stuck in your ass or something?”

Hanamaki face palms from beside him, and Tooru just stares, confused.

“I...I’m not sure what-“

“Oikawa, man,” Hanamaki finally joins, “Look, we know somethings wrong, alright? So just tell us.”

“Nothings wrong.” It’s unbelievable even to his own ears, and he can’t meet their eyes as he says it, instead turning back to his clothes, buttoning his pants and reaching for his jacket.

A hand grips his shoulder, and he follows it to the face of Matsukawa, who raises an eyebrow. “You expect us to believe that?”

It’s not a real question, Tooru knows, and he almost feels like a caged animal, his heart pounding in his ears, the walls seeming to keep him in his place, as if the universe was telling him to sit down and shut up.

“Yes, actually, I do,” Tooru snaps, and he regrets it as soon as he does it but he refuses to take it back, instead standing and putting the jacket on. He picks up his bag and attempts to shove past them, only to be pushed back. Iwaizumi’s eyes are glaring, and he flinches under the scrutinizing gaze.

“Stop being so difficult and tell us what’s wrong!” Iwaizumi says, and Tooru clenches his teeth, keeps himself from answering  _ i don’t know, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I can’t stop and it won’t end and I’d give anything for it to _ .

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong, you’re the ones being difficult! Just-“ Tooru tugs at the hand that’s holding him against the lockers, but Iwaizumi has always been much stronger than him, and he can feel the sweat already dripping down his forehead. Frantically, he tugs at the hand. “Just let me go, Iwaizumi!”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong!”

“ _ Nothing _ !” Tooru gasps it this time, and he’s scared now, fingers trembling as he tries to dig his nails into Iwaizumi’s arm, skin itching as it begs him to get out, get out  _ get out _ . His eyesight is blurry, and he can’t  _ breathe _ , he can’t do it, not like this, not like  _ this _ \- and he’s hyperventilating, lungs burning within every breath that he tries to get. “Let  _ go _ !”

There’s a voice alongside Iwaizumi’s now, and Tooru faintly recognizes it as Hanamki’s as the hand is finally pulled from his chest, and he sinks to the floor, scuttling away from all of them and his nails are back in his palm, digging until he’s bleeding, and he presses his hands to his face as he tries to get his breathing back under control, everything back under control,  _ anything _ , why can’t he have  _ anything _ -

“Oikawa!” Hanamki’s face is in front of his, hands holding Tooru’s and forcing his nails out of his hands, and Tooru whimpers. “Breathe, Oikawa!”

“I can’t-“ He rasps, and Hanamki’s hands are gripping his wrists as he raises Tooru’s hands to his own chest, against his heart. 

“Yes, you can.” Hanamaki’s voice is soft, softer than Tooru has ever heard it, and Tooru whimpers again. “Breathe with me, okay?”

Tooru nods, and Hanamaki begins counting, and Tooru follows, taking in a deep breath with every one Hanamaki takes, until he can breathe on his own again, and suddenly the situation is laid bare to him.

His palms are pulsing, the pain making Tooru wince, and he pulls both his hands away from Hanamaki’s ignoring the small red spot on Hanamki’s shirt as he nurses his hands.

Tooru just had a panic attack - he knows he did, he’s never had one outside of his room before, without the pillow. He had a panic attack because Iwaizumi wouldn’t stop touching him. He’s so  _ stupid _ .

“I’m-“ He says, voice weak, and he clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Hanamaki stands, then opens his hand in offering to help Tooru help. Hesitantly, he accepts, standing on weak knees. “We were being too forceful. We shouldn’t have cornered you.”

“I overreacted,” Tooru argues, but Hanamaki shakes his head, then pulls him into a hug. Tooru returns it much faster than he meant to, burying his face into Hanamaki’s shoulder. 

“T… Oikawa.” Tooru looks up, to Iwaizumi’s horrified face, hand reaching out to touch him, and Oikawa purses his lips, then pulls away from Hanamaki’s hug. Iwaizumi takes the offer for what is it and runs forward, pulling Tooru into a harsh hug. He can feel wet tears against his neck, and the clenching in his chest worsens. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Iwa-Chan.”

“No, it isn’t,” Iwaizumi says, and then he pulls back, taking Tooru’s face between two hands. “I should’ve let go when you asked me to, but I… Well, there are no excuses, but I’m… I’ve  _ been  _ scared, Oikawa. You’re not okay.”

“I know.”  _ You don’t have to remind me _ .

“And I’m…  _ we’re  _ here for you, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi presses their foreheads together. “ _ Please  _ talk to us. Talk to me. Talk to  _ anyone _ . Stop being a dumbass and take responsibility for making us worry, okay?”

Tooru smiles, just a little, and nods. “Okay, Iwa-Chan.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ok gang stay tuned for the following fics I’m going to write/finish in a haze after finals week, all porn because yea:
> 
> Punk iwa au 
> 
> Professor iwa au
> 
> TEACHER iwa abo au
> 
> Please don’t judge me au
> 
> Iwaizumi’s hot please I’m sorry au
> 
> And, last but CERTAINLY not least, monster fucker Oikawa au


End file.
